


The End of the World

by louise_lux



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hannibal, M/M, Mild D/s Play, Mild Kink, Post season three, References to drugging, Sea Captain Daddy Hannibal, Sexually obsessed Will, they're on a boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louise_lux/pseuds/louise_lux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after season three. They have been at sea for six months, sailing the oceans down to Cape Horn. Hannibal seems to have accepted this rough life, devoid of any luxury (or murder). Will is enthralled by this new Hannibal, but finds it difficult to truly believe that he is willing to live like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the World

"What have you got?" Will called. He was dropping anchor.

"I don't know," Hannibal called back. "But it's big." He planted his feet on deck and steadied himself against the pull of the fish. It took all his strength, and the harness dug into his waist and thighs as the fish struggled against the hook. It would not win though, battle as it might.

"Gotta be a swordfish," Will said, coming up beside him. "Nothing else is that powerful. I told you rounding Cape Horn would be lucky."

It had been a trying week. It was a little late in the year for the Cape, and the currents and winds had been merciless. But Will had navigated them through the worst with spirited unconcern. Easy waters to the Galapagos now, he said, and light winds up to Panama. 

"You're my luck," Hannibal said. A silver tail thrashed up, sending an arc of crystal into the air where it caught the sun. He heaved on the line, drawing it closer little by little. 

"Skill, not luck. You're getting good at this."

"I've had a good teacher."

Hannibal caught him looking, Will's glance trailing up to Hannibal's bare forearms and the bulge of his biceps. Their eyes met briefly, and Hannibal imagined later, Will under him, caught and pinned.

Will swallowed and looked away. 

Will liked him in a t-shirt, so he often wore one. Besides that, they proved comfortable and practical for life at sea, worn under a flannel shirt. He heaved hard against the fish, winding it in slowly. By the end, he was sweating and short of breath. Will continued to watch.

They landed it together, Will leaning down over the side of the boat to hook it onto deck. It flopped down, shedding silver scales. He dealt with it quickly as Hannibal unbuckled himself from the harness. 

Will looked up and handed him the knife. "Want to gut it? It should be your honor, you caught it." 

"It would be my pleasure." 

They heaved it onto a tarp together. Hannibal threw the guts into a bucket, to be kept for chum. He cleaned out the cavity with water and then began to fillet it. He'd have to salt some of it and pack as much as he could into the freezer. The task of making swordfish appealing for many months lay ahead. 

He swabbed the deck after, in rubber boots and a waterproof coat. The wind was rising from the south, and a purple bloom of clouds sat on the horizon. He turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes for a moment, desiring the wind to scarify him. Ozone and salt, and below it engine oil and blood. For three years he'd had nothing but recycled air. Now, every molecule of that prison had been blasted from his skin.

"Do you want food?" Will yelled from the galley. 

"Very much," he called back. Life at sea created a keen and healthy appetite, at the very least. 

He finished with the deck and went to shower off the pungent scent of fish guts. After, in clean jeans and t-shirt and with damp hair, he found Will in the galley. He was at the stove, frying potatoes and fresh fish, and he glanced up at Hannibal, gaze lingering on him.

"Smells delicious," Hannibal said. Will set down two plates of hash. 

"You don't have to say that every time."

"We've been at sea for six months and you still do not believe I enjoy your cooking."

"You don't have a whole lot of choice unless you want to do it all yourself."

"I'm aware. And yet I still enjoy it." He looked up at Will, reluctant to begin a conversation that had in fact been brewing for some time. But it was inevitable they should discuss this. "You don't believe me."

Will ate, looking down at his plate. "About the food, no." He put his fork down and shrugged. "I find it difficult to believe you want any of this."

The shrug encompassed the boat, this life, the lack of fine things. Hannibal reached out and covered Will's hand with his own. "I believe we should discuss this in bed."

Will took a breath, his gaze softening and growing warm. "Okay. Sure. I'm going to shower."

Hannibal washed the dishes, stacked them away, and wiped down the tiny workspace ready for the morning, listening to water sputtering in their tiny washroom. They would rise some time after dawn, weigh anchor and set sail. Hannibal always made breakfast, something hearty to carry them through the day, heavy on protein, no skimping on the butter. Will thrived on such a diet. He usually cooked their evening meal, and his simple efforts were improving. Slowly. 

He could subdue Will, chemically of course, and take him to Santiago or Buenos Aires or even Rio, to fill up on epicurean delights, to plunge them both into the best the world had to offer, to even have solid ground under his feet. He would dress Will up, fine suits to show off his form, let him loose in the back alleys and watch his exquisite transformation into something bestial and bloody-toothed. 

Hannibal sighed and polished the last of the cutlery. He had chosen this life, but no choice was irreversible. 

"Hannibal?" Will called, softly, irresistibly, from the bedroom.

Except a deal with the Devil. Quite possibly that was what he had made. 

Will was in bed, under the sheets. A small tube of lubricant sat on the shelf next to the bed. It was always there. He watched as Hannibal shed his clothes, and folded back the sheets to welcome him in. He was naked, his body tough and scarred, his muscles thick and powerful. 

Hannibal lay down heavily on him and Will groaned, winding himself around Hannibal's body, reaching up to kiss him. His mouth was hungry on Hannibal's and he spread his thighs, asking silently for what he wanted. 

Hannibal was more than happy to provide it. He slicked his fingers and pressed into Will's body. Several inches in, he brushed over Will's prostate, and felt him strain and stiffen.

"Oh," Will gasped, canting his hips for more. 

He seemed never to get used to the sensation, nor to tire of being entered. Had he ever allowed anyone touch him like this before, or had the conditioning of his upbringing prevented it? Hannibal hung over him, pressing him down. Will slid a hand into his hair, curling his fingers into it, clinging on, mouth wet and slick. Hannibal slid another finger into the heat of his body. 

"Sweet boy," he murmured. He watched Will's eyes glaze and his mouth go slack. "So eager to get what you want, aren't you?" 

Will moaned against his mouth, squeezing down hard on his fingers. Hannibal took his hips and turned him, hitching him up and propping him with a pillow, exposing him.

"Are you ready for me?" 

"Oh, God," Will said in a low choking voice. He dipped his spine, offering himself up. "Yes," he said, voice half swallowed by the bed. 

Hannibal entered him with his tongue, first. Around them, the sheets twisted and pulled under Will's fists. He slid one hand under Will's balls, then up under his cock, giving him something to thrust into. He pushed deeper with his tongue, tasting and invading, finding his own breaths coming quicker, his grip on Will's cock becoming convulsive.

"Oh. Hannibal."

Hannibal knelt up, then gripped Will's hips hard and pushed into him with almost careless speed. It had the desired effect. The sound Will made was cracked and high and desperate, cheek to the mattress, eyes closed, lips soft and wet. He let Hannibal pull and position him, canting his hips even more as Hannibal began to pound into him. 

It didn't take either of them very long to reach the edge. At the very end, Hannibal flattened himself to Will's back, binding him with his arms, pinning him just as he'd imagined. Will convulsed under him and Hannibal smiled into his hair, his own orgasm drawn out of him helplessly. 

Afterwards, they cleaned up and climbed back into bed. Will shifted to lay his head on Hannibal's shoulder. He put his hand on Hannibal's chest, fingers pushing through the hair there. 

"Was that the conversation, or do we need another?" Will said.

Hannibal slid an arm around him. With his thumb he touched the bullet scar, standing a little proud over the hard curve of Will's shoulder muscle. "Much can be said with flesh."

"Too much. Not enough."

"We do need another."

Will made a soft sound of resignation, and shifted so that he could see Hannibal's face. They lay looking at each other, Will studying him intently. 

"I suspect you're thinking of ways to force me to live with you on your terms," he said. "You have a plan."

"Almost correct. I haven't planned it." Not in precise detail, in any case. "But I do think about it, yes."

"How would you get me to be compliant? Oh, you'd drug me."

He sounded disappointed. Hannibal put a hand on Will's hip, sliding around to stroke the smooth curve of his backside. He squeezed hard muscle. "You're already compliant."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I? In a certain mood, you'd allow me to do much more to you than to take you roughly and to call you 'boy'. The captain to your cabin boy."

Will stared at him, unreadable for a moment, but the flush on his skin gave away his pleasure at that idea. His eyes were grey in this light, the same colour as the sea under soft cloud. "What would I allow, Hannibal?" 

"The small push that cracks open the door. If I did enact the daydream, to drug and kidnap you and to tempt you with live bait, to encourage you to live the life you were built for, half of you would be delighted." Will closed his eyes in a sweep of thick dark lashes. "Are you seeing it, swirling in the darkness there?" 

He nodded, perhaps unwilling to say it aloud. Not yet, at least.

"I might tire of the sea, of damp boards and the persistent aroma of fish, of your cooking, but I will not tire of having you at my side. I'd sacrifice much to keep you."

Will opened his eyes. "How much?"

"Everything. It would only be fair. You have done so for me."

Will's bridges had been furiously burnt. There could be no going back, to try to explain his absence to Molly Graham and the child, to Jack. Hannibal was happier about that than it was wise to admit, at least with the wounds of it still raw. Lounds would be the only one eager to hear his story. 

Will moved his head back onto Hannibal's shoulder, and Hannibal drew the blankets up over him, and they slept. 

*

The storm hit the next morning and herded them up the Chilean coast for the next several days. It was far too risky to drop anchor, so they took shifts at the helm, relying on the engine to get them out of the worst of it. They had little time for anything but the basics of survival, and Hannibal fell into bed with barely the energy to undress. He ate energy bars and toast, which Will seemed to find amusing. 

If one saw them as prey, and the ocean an unrelenting predator, then it was as exhilarating as anything Hannibal had ever experienced. 

Will came to him at the helm one morning, when the storm was finally blowing itself out. The sea was rough and iron grey, and white frills graced the top of each swell. 

"Get some sleep," Will said. He studied Hannibal for a few moments, a small warm smile on his lips, an almost shy admiration in his glance. "You look like you need it."

Hannibal ran a hand over his jaw, feeling thick stubble. He'd pulled his hair back with a band to stop it whipping around his eyes, and the thick wool of his sweater was damp from spray. "We're through the worst of it, I believe."

"Yeah, we should lay over and take a break for a day or so. I'll head inshore and find somewhere safe. There are a few good bays along this quadrant."

"Then I will cook us something special in celebration." 

"Please do. If I never eat another Power Bar it'll be too soon."

"We should be making our own. Far better value and nutrient content."

This made Will smile for some reason. "I used to work with a guy at Quantico who made his own granola. Cycled fifteen miles to work and back every day. Nothing stopped him. He'd arrive covered in mud or sweat most days."

"Until?"

"Until nothing. I just used to wonder what his life was lacking to make that seem like a fun choice."

"He probably thought the same about you." 

"Probably did." Will glanced at him again, gaze travelling over his face. He nudged Hannibal away from the helm and took over. "Get some rest."

*

Hannibal woke to dusk, with the sense of having slept deeply and peacefully. He stretched, then rose, showered quickly, and dressed to the scent of coffee percolating. He chose a simple t-shirt from his small collection of clothes, much washed, one where the neckline had become a little ragged. He thumbed it, visualising Will's house, his dogs, that ancient past, the cut and hang of his many abandoned suits, and stepped out into the cabin. 

Will looked up at him, and a smile spread across his lips, that odd soft shyness again. His gaze travelled over Hannibal's chest, sticking on his neck. He had coffee and a week-old copy of the Washington Post. "Better?"

"Much, thank you." He poured coffee and peered from the cabin window. Will had moored them in a sheltered bay. Mountains rose up around it, skirted with lush foliage. "The green is shocking after so much blue and grey." 

"We can head to shore tomorrow," Will said, coming over to join him. He gestured with his coffee mug. "They're called Los Patos. The Ducks."

"A neat row of them. Speaking of which, I had better begin dinner. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Will said, with an indrawn breath. 

"You should have woken me earlier."

Will looked away, and a flush brightened his cheekbones. "I didn't want to disturb you. I-- I was thinking about what you said before."

Their conversation of several days ago was still fresh in Hannibal's mind, and so must it be in Will's. Sacrifice was not a simple undertaking, and visions of Will first as his captive, then his willing equal, red-toothed and eager, had swum beguilingly through his waking thoughts. Could he give that idea up? He leaned in close to Will's mouth. "Would you like to play cabin boy tonight, Will?"

Will put his hands on Hannibal's chest, palms hot through the cotton. He nodded, and when he spoke his voice was heavy and low. "I want you to tell me what you'd do. How you'd-- force me-- to live that life you want. The live bait you'd tempt me with." He looked up into Hannibal's eyes as if wondering at his own words. "Where you'd take me, what we'd do. I know you've thought about it."

Hannibal kissed him, unable to resist, and Will responded with eagerness verging on desperation, twisting his hands into Hannibal's shirt. Finally Hannibal drew back. "You should shower." He kissed Will's neck, lingering there. "Make yourself ready for me."

Dinner was simple and quick. Hannibal made sure of it. Pan fried swordfish steaks and a salad made of the few fresh ingredients they had picked up before the Horn. Tomatoes with chili and coriander cooked down into a thick smooth sauce. Throughout, he could feel Will's gaze on him, and he smiled to himself. Will, pink and a little damp from the shower, laid the table and opened the wine, and they ate. 

"Time for bed, don't you think?" Hannibal said, afterwards. 

In their room, Hannibal pulled Will close and kissed him again, pushing his hands under Will's clothes to find smooth warm skin. He slid one hand down into Will's pants, cupping his ass and then sliding his fingers between his cheeks. Will gasped against his mouth as Hannibal slid a fingertip inside him. Will had prepared himself, and was slick to the touch.

Hannibal smiled to himself. "Good boy," he said, working a little deeper. "Take me in your mouth, first." Will clenched around his finger and pressed his face to Hannibal's neck. His hands were working shakily at unfastening Hannibal's pants. He pushed them down, then pulled off Hannibal's shirt.

Will sank to his knees, and Hannibal threaded his fingers through his hair. It was several inches longer now, tangled and wild. He pulled on it lightly, guiding Will's mouth to the head of his cock, which made Will moan unashamedly. The sound of it was wholly seductive, perhaps as Will intended. Will spread his hands over Hannibal's thighs, bracing himself, and swallowed him deeply. 

"Perhaps this is the method I should have used with you originally," Hannibal said, as Will's mouth slid down his shaft. He grew harder at the dark flash of Will's eyes, at the fullness of his mouth. He took Will's head more firmly in his grasp.

"Are you hungry for me, Will?" A nod. "Could you give me up?" Will gazed up, heavy lidded, and shook his head. 

He pulled away and leaned his forehead against Hannibal's stomach, hot breath gusting over his groin. "I don't think I can, not anymore," he said. He licked along the length of Hannibal's cock, fingers tight at the base, and took it into his mouth again, more deeply than he could easily manage.

"Scopolamine," Hannibal said softly. He cupped Will's head again, drawing him in further. Will raised his eyes to his face. "A dose strong enough to confuse you, to induce sleepiness. Nothing harmful. I would have us flown by private charter to a city of my choice. Buenos Aires, at first. You would be my patient, suffering a breakdown. No one would question us." He traced the curved line of Will's lip with his forefinger as Will sucked. "When you woke, I would give you everything you ever wanted."

Will's mouth went slack and he groaned. He drew back, then pressed hot kisses to Hannibal's stomach. "Tell me." He was hoarse. 

It was difficult, for several moments, to control himself. "On your back."

Will stared up, open mouthed, then nodded. He rose and climbed onto the bed and lay down, feet flat on the covers, thighs parted. Hannibal knelt between them, lined himself up and pushed into Will's body. Will clutched at his arm, gasping, staring down between their thighs. They rocked together for several long moments. Hannibal gathered his control, which was fraying. 

"We all have our methods, our logic for choosing our prey. What would yours be, Will?" He had often wondered this.

Will blinked, as if coming back to himself. He gazed up at Hannibal, damp curls on his forehead and lips bitten red. He was wholly seductive. "People like me. Like you. Doing bad things to bad people."

Of course. Hannibal pushed deeper into him. Will arched his back, hot and slick around him, and so beautifully desperate. "I'd find them, take you to them. Build opportunities for killing into our lives." He leaned down, finding Will's mouth for a moment, tasting him. "Until your control broke. Which it would." 

Will's breath shuddered out of him and he reached for Hannibal, pulling him down. "Yes," he breathed, finally. "I'd do it."

Occasionally lightning would touch, blue white bolts that shot through his limbs. It did so now. He drove into Will's body, unable to hold onto any sort of control. Will slid his hands up Hannibal's arms, fingers riding over muscles and bones. He tangled in Hannibal's hair, brushing it back from his eyes, just hanging on as Hannibal rode him, breath punched from him. Will came first, onto his own stomach, with a cry, and it pushed Hannibal over the edge. 

Will drew him close afterwards and stroked his hair. "We could climb that mountain tomorrow."

"Would be good to be on land again." He met Will's eyes. "If only for a short while."

"There's a phenomenon where sailors feel the ground move when they walk on it after a long time at sea. You'll get that." 

Hannibal settled his head back on Will's shoulder. "Land becomes sea, sea becomes land. It's a mirror of the earth's history." He smiled. 

"Trust a dysfunction of the inner ear to make you happy." Will was stroking the back of Hannibal's neck, fingertips drifting soothingly over his skin. They stopped. "I don't want to go back to land."

"I'm aware," Hannibal said. "You don't want to unleash our folie a deux onto the world."

"You wouldn't do it, would you? Force me back?" It was a question, but he sounded sure. Very sure. 

"I might plan it, contemplate the finer details, but no." 

"Why not?" Will asked. 

"Look at what you've wrought. You've given me the illusion of control, but you have it truly. I'll act on your word, do your bidding, dress as you dress, eat what you eat. Willingly, to be allowed to stay with you." The truth barely hurt now. He traced a line along Will's chest, heart to belly button, life to life. "You're the moon to my sea."

There was a long pause, and Will's arm tightened around his shoulders. "Hey now." Will laid a kiss on Hannibal's hair. His voice sounded a little thick. "Don't go getting poetic on me or we'll really be in trouble."

"Why not? You deserve a poem. I'll compose one on the mountaintop. It would be fitting."

"Yes," Will said. "It would."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the It's Still Beautiful challenge. Thanks to Emungere for the beta!


End file.
